


Witches Do It Better

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Mentions of Sex Toys, get-together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-09 19:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: After the war, Pansy has to reconsider a lot of her options. For some reason, Lavender keeps getting her full attention, and it is hard to concentrate on re-inventing her image, when all Pansy can think about is her smile.





	Witches Do It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capeofstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeofstorm/gifts).



> Dear capeofstorm!
> 
> I hope you like the direction I have taken this towards, it was a blast to play with your prompts!  
> Thanks to percygranger, who helped kick me into gear. All remaining idiosyncracies are mine :D

Pansy swans into the train compartment of the Hogwarts Express with all the aplomb she can muster. It’s quite a bit, even without taking in the Courage Tincture she’d applied with her perfume. The effect is not really noticeable, more an additional encouragement than a real boost to her confidence, sorely needed, even if this is her eighth time taking the Hogwarts Express. She should be used to it by now. But the Gryffindors intimidate her now, as they have never intimidated her before: She imagines herself on the winning side of the war, and cannot make their reactions align with her. Even if she would have had the inclination to be magnanimous, she would have been smug about it — and there wouldn’t have been anything wrong with that.

"Good morning, Potter, I hope you’ll excuse the interruption," she says, and then blinks because the compartment is considerably fuller than their standard six seats.

"Fuck off," Ginny Weasley says from her space in the Boy-Who-Lived’s lap. 

Pansy ignores her, and focuses on Potter himself. "I’m going to apologise in public so you will not reject my apology like you did Draco’s." It was embarrassing to watch, really, how Draco had worked out his formal apology, and Potter had just waved it away like it was nothing. Pansy would not be fobbed off with the same.

Potter looks puzzled and starts to protest, but Pansy isn’t going to let him get a word in edgewise. "So!" she says loudly, and sweeps her eyes over the rest of the compartment. There’s Longbottom, and Loony Lovegood, and the other parts of the Golden Trio, and then there’s Brown, who is a newer addition. She was always a Gryffindor, but more adjacent — dominated the gossip circle like a queen with her direct channel to Granger. She was always pretty, but the time with the Carrows, and the attack by Greyback messed her up badly. Pansy, who made it through the war unscathed on the outside, feels like it should be bearing those scars herself, and yet her face is pristine.

She takes a deep breath, and then, calculated to put Potter on the wrong foot, says bluntly, "I apologise for trying to sell you out to the Dark Lord. It wasn’t anything personal, you know. It just seemed like it would be the better outcome for me, personally? Thanks for offing him anyway."

Potter smiles at her, but it’s more like a grimace. "I didn’t mind," he says, and it sounds rough and earnest. This was not what Pansy had prepared for. Helplessly, she looks away from him, accidentally meeting Lavender Brown’s eyes. Her face is scarred, the red lines an angry contrast across her face. Pansy knows Lavender, knows the Gryffindor girl who would sometimes come down to the hall to gossip— Lavender knows her glamour charms. She isn’t using them.

Pansy has seen the impact the Dark Lord had. Pansy felt deadly afraid in the Great Hall, when the Dark Lord arrived, and she was the only one of them to do something about it, maybe not the right thing, but she tried. But seeing Lavender’s scars, remembering the attack by Greyback, seeing the visceral effects of what kind of win the Dark Lord’s would have been, makes her nauseous. 

Pansy swallows and looks back to Potter. "I do," she says. "I want to apologise. A Slytherin I may be, but I’m not a coward." This was a mite more earnest than anything she has had planned. And yet, somehow, it seems to be working. Potter isn’t rejecting her out of hand.

Ginny Weasley bares her teeth at her. "Nobody thought you were, saying that, in the Great Hall, with him, and me, and McGonagall." She nods towards Longbottom, and Pansy follows her line of sight — she can’t keep her eyes away from the look in Brown’s eyes. It is— hard to describe, really, but defiant, somehow. Pansy doesn’t think challenging her opinions on this matter would be worth anything, since her courage was in the face of self-preservation, and according to everyone, therefore didn’t count as courage. Especially not here, surrounded by people who will wish her ill.

"Have a nice day, then," she says, and leaves the compartment, feeling like she’d lost the first fight.

 

Pansy isn’t impressed by how the Potter gang reacts to her presence in the first months of their new school year. It is Eight Year, automatically different, but they dismiss the Slytherins like they usually do. They aren’t actively dismissing her the way they do Draco, but it is very upsetting to be made invisible. It’s as if her actions at the Siege of Hogwarts were so negligible, as if she was irrelevant. That may be true— it still hurts. She never wanted to be irrelevant, to anything.

Dean Thomas blocks her entry into the library once, putting himself between the door and her — he doesn’t say anything at all, just stares with crossed arms, but he’s gotten intimidating in his year on the lam. She turns around, and spreads gossip about him sleeping around with Slytherin girls — and maybe that is disproportionate retribution; but frankly, she doesn’t give a fuck. She’s seen him decapitate someone, and how is this something she can say about her schoolmates?

"How’s your history essay?" Daphne asks, and it’s the first time one of the neutral Slytherins have talked to her, and she should concentrate on replying, since it doubles as a peace offering (History being her worst and Daphne’s best subject) but Lavender passes their table, and Pansy can’t help but follow her with her eyes. It’s the way she walks, maybe. 

"It’s going well," she says to Daphne, half-heartedly because there’s someway she has to reply. She’ll go insane if the only exchanges she has with people are going to be with teachers. She continues to watch how Lavender sits down, and crosses her legs. Pansy wants to kiss her way up, checking for other marks on her way up…

"Cool, cool," Daphne says. "I was going to offer you first pass of my own essay, but if you don’t want to…" Pansy stares at her aghast — it couldn’t be. There’s no way.

"You don’t have to look at me like I killed your crup. I was kidding, you can have it."

Pansy doesn’t have a crush on a Gryffindor. Why would she? It’s in bad taste. People are going to think she seduced her way onto the good side.

She takes the scroll Daphne hands to her, and stares at it blankly. Daphne sighs, "You don’t have to pretend you did your essay, you know."

Pansy blinks, and then registers the conversation. "I’ve finished the essay," she protests, and goes for her bag, after another quick look after Lavender. She disappeared behind a bookshelf, and there’s no way Pansy is going to follow her right now. Instead, she concentrates on the essay and on Daphne.

When Daphne leaves for History of Magic, Pansy lingers behind. Lavender is sitting with Parvati, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan not far from them. Pansy dithers; does she really want to approach her when Thomas, of all people is in hearing range?

"What do you want?" Parvati asks. 

It’s rude, and Pansy came because she has a crush, and doesn’t know when to leave well enough on her own. She was going to talk about make-up and gossip, but she just realises that Lavender hasn’t done either in their Eight year, yet. She’s wearing almost no make-up at all, in fact, and talking about that—

Pansy lifts one eyebrow, and expresses her disdain in the only way possible, "From you? Nothing." And she continues past them to the shelf that bares the Divination books, she’s not going to have a use for. Her looks linger on Lavender maybe a bit too much, and she thinks Lavender noticed, but there’s nothing she can do about that with everyone watching. She leaves the library, disappointed in herself.

Lavender has continued to wear her face bare, and Pansy only just noticed. She does use some make-up, but no glamours over the scars, and it is jarring, and uncomfortable, but Pansy doesn't stare because she finds them ugly. Pansy stares, because of how brazen Lavender can be, allows herself to be — Lavender didn’t suddenly get outspoken, she still giggled more than any other of the girls — curled her blonde hair into perfect ringlets; and yet. There was something about wearing her scars like a badge of honour, something that Pansy found admirable but couldn’t do herself.

Pansy’s own scars were invisible, had been erased through copious amounts of Dittany until they were barely felt even as tiny ridges with her fingers. Pansy has plenty of offers, for marriage or a quick romp behind the greenhouse, and would probably always have offers, pureblooded pretty girl that she was. But would she have them if she suddenly had scars, if she had kept them visible in this outrageous fashion?

She didn’t know what she envied more, the scars on Lavenders face, or her ability to wear them in public without having people hint that maybe she should cover them. Pansy paused. Were there people who told Lavender she should cover up her scars? Pansy hated the thought of that.

So during the next History of Magic lesson, Pansy sidled up to her bench. Parvati, who had prevented an approach in the library, had nodded off, the hypnotic voice of Binns leading to the learned behaviour of more than seven years. 

"I like what you’ve been doing with—" Pansy says, and because she still hasn’t found a polite way to refer to Lavender's mangled scars, she hides it behind a gesture of her face.

Lavender grimaces. "No need to flatter me," she replies, and her voice has gotten rougher than Pansy remembers. "It’s hideous; especially for the immaculate Slytherin Princess."

Pansy should have remembered that compliments from a Slytherin wouldn’t fly, but she takes offence at the implication she was putting on airs. "Queenie is the only royalty we need, and to be honest, she’s already more than enough. Never mind."

And she goes back to listening to Binns drone on and on. 

Half an hour later, an elaborately folded origami flower finds its way across to her desk. It’s a carnation on lined paper. Pansy doesn’t think Lavender meant anything in her choice of flowers. (Has she, though? Maybe the choice of lined paper is implication for a love that cannot be shared? It would fit, even though Pansy doesn’t want it to.)

When Pansy pokes the flower with her wand, it opens. There’s lavender-coloured script, "7 p.m., kitchens." Nothing else. Her heartbeat goes faster, anyway. There’s no reason for it, and Pansy is sure Lavender hadn't meant it that way, but it felt like a secret rendezvous.

When Pansy looks up, Parvati has woken up and glares at her. With a proprietary hand on Lavender’s, Parvati nudges her over, and Lavender goes, easily. Pansy keeps staring even though it hurts a little, and then Parvati shoots her a triumphant smile. Is she declaring herself competition? Pansy has never thought that Parvati and Lavender’s friendship was anything but friendship, but if she wants to play…

It’s on now.

 

Pansy has no idea how to woo a Gryffindor. Well, she figures it needs to be done with grandstanding, sweeping gestures, and excitement, but she figures Lavender’s too loyal to Parvati, or maybe her ideals, to be swept away so easily.

As far as school gossip is concerned, there’s basically just one thing you need to do to woo a Gryffindor, and that’s being obviously available. It helps if you write out in sparkle what and who you desire, if your object of desire is particularly dense, but because of obvious reasons, this avenue of creating interest is closed to her. Lavender wasn’t going to trust any love letters coming from her, not with how she reacted to a simple compliment. And even if Lavender took her by her word, that still left the obvious problem if Lavender was even into girls, or her specifically. How to woo a Gryffindor with subtlety? Passing secret notes and riddles? Too Ravenclaw. Besides, who would pass them? And getting Lavender alone was almost impossible… She’s going to fail.

Pansy sighs and presses her head against the cool surface of the nicest table in the library.

"Excuse me, is this table free?" said object of desire asks. "Everything else is full."

There she is. Lavender, with her golden curls. Her mouth looks so soft, halfway open, cared for with some kind of sheer lip balm that Pansy would love to identify by taste alone. 

"Sure, go ahead," Pansy says before anything else she might regret. The library had filled while Pansy was having her small existential crisis over falling in love with— well. That Lavender was a woman was the least of her problems. Everything else, the implications of going for a Gryffindor hero, even though that was a very attractive thought, the opinions everyone else would have on their relationship… Couldn’t Pansy have fallen for someone easier?

Lavender sits down. She’s still using the same kind of perfume, roses and citrus, a fresh flowery smell as she had before the year with the Carrows. Pansy remembers asking her where she got it once. It’s a reassuring familiar scent. There was a brief period in 3rd grade when she was using lavender, and reminded Pansy of St. Mungo’s ward, but thankfully she had changed her mind.

"Have you finished Transfiguration yet?" Pansy asks, because the book Lavender opens is for Herbology — from which she came, just minutes ago, if Pansy remembers her schedule correctly.

"No," Lavender says, "but I didn't understand half of the theory, and Hermione explains to Harry and Ron in small word what happened every evening, so I’m hedging my bets. Either I’ll understand it then, or I need to pay a tutor again."

They descend into silence. Pansy tries to concentrate on her own homework. This is familiar to her, though. She has spent much of last year studying quietly, not afraid for her life like the rest of the school, but afraid for other people. Afraid for the first years, who hadn’t known how to behave, especially since there were no prefects that could help them on their way. Not afraid enough to do anything about that. She had been afraid of other things, of one of the boys deciding that this was the day they would try out their spells on the other girls, on her, not just the —muggleborns. Afraid of watching the torture, really. Her quill snaps, and she has to pull out her knife to sharpen it again.

"You stopped painting your nails." Pansy isn’t aware of having said it, but she wondered about it — Lavender had the most elaborate nails Pansy had ever seen, usually. Now they are bare, kind of pointy, faintly discoloured by handling potion ingredients, but they don’t look like the hands of someone who takes care of them.

"Yes," Lavender answers, short. Pansy has clearly stepped on troll excrement. Then, she relents, says, "They hardened — you know, the werewolf?" 

She clearly does not want to continue, so Pansy makes a noise of agreement, even though she doesn’t get what Lavender is talking about. Lavender continues, "It’s like—it wasn’t the full moon, I didn’t get infected, but— there’s certain traits that are apparently called up. Bill, the oldest Weasley brother, he says he gets the urge to run during full moon, and he craves rare meat. I don’t, luckily. It’s just the… claws." She spreads open her fingers. Maybe her nails are a bit darker. Pansy isn’t certain.

"You could still paint them," Pansy says. "Sharpen them into points."

"Threaten my enemies with them," Lavender says, and smiles with all her teeth. Her teeth are a bit more pointy, too.

Pansy shivers. "Or that," her voice is coming out deeper than she expects, and she clears her throat.

"Nah," Lavenders says and wiggles her fingers. "I keep them short for, you know." She pauses for an exaggerated look, then her tongue darts out. It’s obscene, that’s what it is, and Pansy flushes hot all over. Is she this transparent? Is Lavender fooling around with Parvati? Is she fooling around with herself?

Lavender is still grinning at her. 

Pansy is red in the face, probably, or would be if she didn't use the opaque make-up. She’s still stuck up on Lavender’s nails, and says before she has quite thought out if she really wants to have this conversation in public, "There’s all sorts of toys for that if you wanted to paint your nails again. And spells."

"Really," Lavender asks, leaning forward. "Are they owl-order?"

"Discrete packages, even. With an anonymous deposit at Gringott’s, too."

"Clearly, I have the wrong sort of friends when I don't know that. Do you have a catalogue?"

"—Not on me," Pansy answers, "but I can get it to you."

"Thank you," Lavender purrs. "Very kind of you to help with the education of your fellow witch."

Pansy lets herself get caught by her gaze, and it is heady. She smiles the wicked smile, that curls around the corner of her mouth and that she may or may not have practised in the mirror. "Of course," she says in the deep smokey voice that comes from inhaling beauty potions for too long.

And suddenly Lavender seems like the old one, an always laughing, always joking kind of girl, with the most extensive gossip network of the school. The scars are there still, but they somehow complete the picture, and Pansy doesn’t — she can’t —this is not how she had planned, at all.

 

She looks for the catalogue, finds it among Millie’s things and pointedly doesn’t think about it. She’d send it on immediately, but that might come across as overeager, and Pansy would like to avoid that, if possible. (She doesn’t think it’s possible. She _is_ overeager.) So she waits.

Her patience ran out in History of Magic, two days later, because Parvati is asleep again, and there’s nobody stopping her from sliding across the table row.

Lavender’s nails are still bare.

"No luck in finding the spells for that?" she asks, and her voice comes across slightly more wobbly than she expects. "I’ve brought you my secret technique," she continues, and it’s slightly less awkward. "Here you go— You may keep it." She slides over the magazine. Better Lavender put it to good use, than Millie.

Thankfully, Lavender doesn't comment. Instead, she is looking at the magazine, her mouth a shiny, distracting pink. 

"I didn’t—" she says. There’s an awkward pause. "Thank you," she continues finally. She looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t.

"What," Pansy asks, "think I sullied it with my Slytherin germs?"

Pansy looks at her and arches her brows. Fortunately, it does work on Lavender — it hasn’t worked on Millie since 1st year after Yule. 

She laughs; and it is a breath of fresh air in the stuffy classroom. Pansy is entranced. "I’m looking forward to experimenting. I didn’t really think you were serious."

"I am a glowing star," Pansy says, and it is a non-sensical reply, but Lavender laughs again; and that is worth making a fool out of oneself. It does wake Parvati, and Pansy goes back to her place instead of dealing with Parvati deliberately ignoring her existence.

 

It is a few days later, of Pansy each night carefully not thinking about what Lavender might like, and what she would order; and how she would look spread out against the covers of her bed. Against the covers of Pansy's bed even. She’s definitely feeling the sexual frustration, not yet enough to approach Lavender directly and face possible rejection. But, oh, how badly does she want to sneak into the Gryffindor dorms, to check out what Lavender bought, and then use it on her to cause devastation. A wrecked Lavender would be sight to see.

Pansy has only seen Lavender at a distance, not sharing all that many classes. They have picked up difficulty for the preparations for the NEWT examinations, but Pansy cannot care all that much about the uncertainty principle of prime magical numerals. And she’s daydreaming again after Potions — when a familiar arm grabs her out of an alcove and pulls her in.

It’s Lavender, and she seems flushed. Immediately, Pansy is embarrassed herself — but she has glamour charms on her cheeks, and soft delicate rouge that hides it. 

"Did you need something?" Pansy says, trying to tease. From the sound of her voice, it sounds almost as if she’s begging Lavender herself, so she tries to pull herself together.

Lavender’s eyes look blown, and her voice is scratchy, when she says, "You know, I haven’t thanked you." 

Pansy cannot tear her gaze from Lavender. She’s probably way too close for the proper distance, but she cannot seem to care. Lavender smells so good. Did Parvati see her like this?She has enough awareness to reply, though. "You already thanked me."

"I don’t think it’s enough," Lavender says. Her eyes are shining, her pupils blown wide — they are in the dark, it’s no real indicator for arousal, but Pansy feels her gut tighten anyway. Her pants are sticking to her skin, and suddenly she’s hot all over.

And then, Lavender is kissing her, sliding right in, and it drives Pansy wild. She holds onto Lavender’s nape, slides the other hand across her back and pulls her in. Full lengths of their bodies pressed against each other, Pansy can feel Lavender’s gorgeous curves, and she doesn’t feel bad about fantasising tying her to her bedposts anymore. 

Pansy is schooled in kissing, and it turns out Lavender is excellent at it, too —there’s a learning process to every new partner, of course, but they like a lot of the same things, when it comes to kissing. Lavender seems a bit thrown by Pansy’s own quite substantial breasts getting into the way of hers, but soon they figured out a good position. Lavender’s kisses are soft, but then they get hard and devouring.

She smells so good, and Pansy uses the opportunity afforded by Lavender breaking for air to kiss down alongside her neck. The ropey scars descend this far down, too, and Pansy wants to worship her scars, wants to celebrate Lavender’s bravery, her audacity, her fearlessness, and she can never admit to any of this in the Slytherin common room, or anywhere else someone might overhear. She sneaks a hand under Lavender’s uniform top, and her skin is almost as soft as her lips. Lightly, she follows the arch of her hips, then upwards, to the clasp of her bra — and then cups her breast, weighs it in her hand. 

Lavender gasps, and it is so gratifying to hear.

Pansy smiles against the scars. "You are so beautiful," she says.

Lavender turns and leans in to kiss her again. When she lets go without even sneaking her tongue into Pansy’s mouth, Pansy has to sigh in disappointment. "You make that sound so sincere, Slytherin."

— that is a bit of a cold shower, Pansy has to admit. She stills. "I can be a Slytherin, and I can be sincere. That isn’t mutually exclusive," she says.

Lavender smiles at her. It’s a bit crooked, a bit self-deprecating. "I know," she says. "But it’s good that you do too. It’s not good for a relationship to be built on lies."

At this, Pansy has to arch her eyebrows again. Maybe Lavender will even acknowledge how perfectly they were traced. "Is this a relationship, then?"

"Yes," Lavender says firmly, and then less firm, asks, "I mean, if that’s okay with you?"

"It is excellent," Pansy confirms, and then kisses her again. "I would love a relationship." Pansy plants a quick kiss on Lavender’s lips. "But, you know, what I’m dying to know— what kind of toys did you buy?"

Lavender starts giggling, but she tries to kiss her through her laughter, so Pansy thinks she’s entirely right to feel smug even though she gets her answer much, much later. This is a good thing, Pansy thinks, and it’s definitely nothing she’d have dared, before.

(When they are done with snogging, Pansy’s ultra-stay lipstick is divided evenly between them, and not at all where it was originally meant to stay.)


End file.
